


Heartache (I Miss You)

by makkerkines



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Communication is everything people, Lack of Communication, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, No Potato was harmed in the making of this fic, Non-Graphic Violence, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Omega Bucky Barnes, Pining Bucky Barnes, Potatoes, Tony Stark is not a Damsel in Distress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 17:35:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15248394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makkerkines/pseuds/makkerkines
Summary: Eventually, the smell forces Bucky's hand.The scent of new omega mixed with the leather, pine and patriotic sense of duty that is one Steven Grant Rogers, lingers on his best friend.And Bucky hates it.





	Heartache (I Miss You)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been holding back the urge to write an alpha/beta/omega fic for so long that this random thing just burst across my mind over the last three nights. I tried. Hopefully, it's enjoyable for everyone.
> 
> All mistakes are my own. Comments are welcome!

Eventually, the smell forces Bucky’s hand.

The scent of new omega mixed with the leather, pine and patriotic sense of duty that is one Steven Grant Rogers, lingers on his best friend.

And Bucky hates it.

*

Having one Steven Grant Rogers as long time best friend, comrade and brother in all but blood - even though Bucky secretly longs for the opposite - and being an omega finely in tune with all his senses, particularly Steve’s scent, Bucky saw the signs of a happy alpha after spending time with not-Bucky, and instead, someone new.

In the air is a strange, pleased, new scent dazzled with a hint of excitement and metallic interest, resting atop a tasty, sweet alpha base. Like cinnamon on an already glazed doughnut.

And Bucky isn’t the omega providing said-cinnamon.

“What’s up Bucky?” Steve asks him one of these days, far into the future, far into Bucky’s gloomy, miserable, wonderful life with Steve Rogers. At least nothing changed their dynamic after sharing every part of their lives together, including an apartment, a decade and more of friendship, and two goldfish.

The scent of metal attacks Bucky again and he holds back a snarl.

“Buck?”

Shit, now he’s got Steve worried and he can’t have the mother-henning right now, not when his senses are trembling and the need to tear Steve’s clothes from his stupid handsome shoulders is a need he desperately ignores. “I’m fine,” he says, shoving away his friend’s hand clearly reaching for his forehead. “Stop it, I’m not sick.”

“That’s something a sick person would say. Is something up?”

Yes, that stupid scent of oil and pleased omega is definitely up – “Nope, everything’s fine.” Shove something at him, anything – “Just, thinking about going out with Clint tonight. Just us, no one else.” Why point that out? Clint’s an omega practically attached to a certain redhead’s hip. “Just nervous.”

Those familiar blue eyes give him a big smile, and Steve’s hand eventually rests upon Bucky’s left shoulder, over scars and against the skin of his neck. “Don’t be nervous, I think that’s a great idea. I’m real proud of you.”

A blush creeps up Bucky’s cheeks. “Thanks.”

Steve squeezes gently before releasing Bucky and heading off to his bedroom.

Bucky barely resists collapsing dramatically against the wall.

He’s screwed.

He tells this to Clint that night and maybe the next.

*

Bucky met Steve when he was fourteen and the other, a year younger.

Or rather, Steve ran into Bucky at that age. Which then brought Bucky into a fight. Which then ended with the two victorious, all teeth accounted for.

The blonde, skinny guy at the time – who later grew into the total beefcake of the current age – was growing into his protective streak the size of Texas, though after this first scuffle with Bucky helping a bruised Steve to his nimble feet, collar of his shirt torn and a mean looking glosser underneath his right eye, that streak was probably the size of Connecticut.

Still, Steve’s fighting was mighty impressive.

“I had’em on the ropes,” Steve had said, blue eyes fierce and angry, aimed right in Bucky’s direction. “I didn’t need your help.”

“Yeah you did, pal,” Bucky replied smoothly. “But not until the end there, so, good job.”

Steve huffed, flustered by the compliment and challenge all wrapped into one cocky smirk. “I’m Steve,” he eventually relented, hand out-stretched.

Bucky grasped the proffered hand, gasping as his senses focused on nothing but that point of contact, the faint blush on Steve’s cheeks and the dirty scent of a slightly bloody, pleased alpha. His omega preened at the potential of connection, bond, friendship. Bucky didn’t know, had never felt it before.

He knew he wanted to keep it.

By Steve’s lack of reaction, just a warm smile and promise of friendship, not noticing the bond potentially growing between them, the young guy had no clue either.

It’s then Bucky realized he may be screwed.

*

But still, he’s there for Steve, growing into his best friend, best omega-friend, and best shoulder to cry on when Steve’s ma passes away.

Because it’s moments like this, poking Steve in the ribs, sending him tumbling off his bed, making coffee in the morning so his best friend doesn’t die on the floor, posing for Steve’s drawings, holding him as he shakes with pneumonia, and shooting every single creature that considers doing the alpha harm in the sands of the Middle East, is when Bucky realizes he’s in love.

Yet Steve dates pretty things, ladies and a few men, shy and nervous but powerful and gorgeous, growing into his muscles like lava overflowing a volcano, and Bucky couldn’t lose that, couldn’t lose Steve and what solid bond they had. Couldn’t risk it.

Until Steve comes home smelling like Tony Stark.

*

It started months ago. Steve, glorious, chiseled from marble, beautiful Steve, joined as a security chief for Stark Industries. Bucky’s Steve – but really, he’s not Bucky’s – became known as the famous Captain and full blown alpha with a protective streak the size of Texas. He rescued a unit that was captured weeks prior, left to die or worse. And Steve, all alone - which Bucky still snarls at him for - and all under his own power, saves every, last soldier. Of course, General Philip gave him the unofficial slap on the wrist afterward, but also a firm shake and a medal of honor.

Then the attack happened, leaving his friends, leaving Bucky, with – no, that’s not important.

Captain Steve Rogers.

Alpha.

So, of course, Tony freaking Stark’s assistant calls Steve a few weeks after their return from the desert, weary and edgy, deaf and limbless, and offers Steve a job of doing what his alpha self did best - protect someone. With the way Steve fsecretly moped around their apartment those first few weeks, he jumped at the opportunity to help.

From what Stark’s assistant said, Tony Stark is wanted dead. The richest, most famous omega in country was a magnet for attention, which brought an avalanche of death threats to his fancy doorstep.

Steve never leaves his side.

*

“What’s that smell?” Bucky asks the first evening, Steve barely a foot into room. He’s sat at the tiny dining room table, coffee in hand despite the late hour; his excuse for waiting up for Steve. And the moment the alpha walks in the door, Bucky’s nose picks up the tingly, metallic scent of omega.

And promptly hates it.

“What smell?” Steve asks, oblivious as he pulls off his coat and shoes before standing beside Bucky at their shared table. He runs his hand across the back of Bucky’s neck, a comforting, practiced touch that relaxes Bucky immediately.

Still, he’s tense.

“You’re reacting like you smell blood. Relax, Buck. Tony was in his lab all day and so I was down there, helping him with his robots. Maybe you’re picking up something from there.”

Bucky sure as hell is if his minute grumble is anything to go by.

Steve ruffles his hair affectionately, effectively melting Bucky’s toes, and goes to pour himself a glass of water. “How was your day?” he asks.

“Fine.” Not super fine, considering his shoulder aches and his lack of sleep haunts the back of his thoughts, but he isn’t going to mention those things to his best friend. He couldn’t handle the mother-henning, really. So he offers, “Had P.T. Saw Sam. Pretty boring.”

After sitting down across from Bucky, Steve gives him a knowing look, full of patience and sympathy and Bucky both despises and preens at the concern. “I’m fine,” he says earnestly.

After a few long moments, Steve relaxes. Pleased with Bucky’s response, he sips his water and begins nudging Bucky’s bare feet with his socked ones, a thing he’s done since they were young. Guy could never sit still.

“How was…protection duty?” Bucky asks, kicking Steve’s stupid feet away, tension leaking from his shoulders. Curse Steve and his ability to make Bucky feel better, like an alpha cheering up his omega but they were sure not that.

Bucky ignores his sudden awareness of Steve’s playful eyes and feet. 

“Protection duty was fun, like I said, robots. Stark isn’t all that bad either.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “I thought he didn’t let anyone play with his toys.”

Steve shrugs, oblivious to what Bucky is implying and what others would kill for – a chance to impress the Tony Stark. The alpha deftly nudges both his feet against Bucky’s until they are settled below the omega’s soles, effectively keeping them warm from the cool floor. Steve grins softly at him, and Bucky’s omega heart soars at the sense of pleased, content alpha. He wishes he could keep it, this feeling of home, forever.

Instead, Bucky says, “Blanket fort?” Steve grins and replies, “You read my mind.”

They fall asleep in the living room, blankets smelling of fresh soap, pine, and a hint of cinnamon, surrounding them like a soft fortress of nostalgia. A mix of happy alpha and omega.

Bucky almost forgets about his earlier grumbling as he falls asleep.

 

*

Thus begins the plans of erasing Tony Stark’s scent from one Steve Rogers.

Natasha notices almost immediately and rolls her eyes an afternoon she was visiting. Bucky isn’t sure if it’s directed at him or Steve’s total obliviousness.

A happy hug here, a random clothes mishap there, a playful sparring session turned intense, thrilling and way too much for Bucky to handle – what with him all but sprinting from the room to take the coldest of showers alone, wallowing in misery – and the best one, a casual touch across Steve’s skin, giving comfort and safety when Steve comes home, tense or angry.

Because people are still trying to kill Tony Stark. And Steve keeps coming home smelling like him.

It makes Bucky wonder if there is something more between the Captain and the omega.

His heart aches.

*

After a particularly tough night a month or so in, Bucky asks quietly, “You okay, Stevie?”

“People are trying to kill him,” his friend answers as he tears off his boots, scent angry and confused, almost personally offended by the news. And this is a huge part of what makes Steve Rogers Steve Rogers. Beneath that adorable, strong persona is an alpha who couldn’t fathom a world where people hurt people, yet here they are in 2018 with countries at war, politics turned venomous and people still punching the smaller guy in a back alley. 

The injustice of it all bothers Steve constantly, and so, he personally takes every matter into his own hands. Some calls it reckless, Bucky calls it stupidly attractive.  
.  
Not like anyone really needs to know that.

“That’s why he has you now,” Bucky assures his friend as he leads him to sit on their couch with a hand on his wonderfully large arm. “And I doubt you’d let anything happen to him.” Steve’s eyes turn flinty at the mere suggestion. Bucky squeezes his shoulder gently. “Just stick with him like Clint sticks to Nat. You’ll be much more successful than him, I assure you, and hell, maybe people will stop trying to attempt taking his life.”

Really though, it’s not old news – it’s common. Tony Stark is known for his genius, his playboy status, his weapons, his tech and his outstanding label as the world’s most sought out omega. He brought trouble to his front porch them moment he solved two plus two.

“I mean, he’s selfish, stupid and amazing all at the same time,” Steve confesses to him one evening after the last. Bucky doesn’t hear the rest of Steve’s explanation because he’s still selfishly caught up on the amazing part coming out of Steve’s mouth. His friend ends with a “I just don’t know what to do.” And the omega immediately sits straighter, pays attention, because his senses scream at him to reach out and comfort. To make Steve grin again.

Because a distressed Steve is an unhappy Bucky.

So, he pulls Steve into a tight hug and nudges his fingers into the blonde’s ribs, eliciting a string of giggles totally befitting his best friend and bringing a grin to that wonderful face. “You just do what you do best, Steve,” he says.

Steve looks at him, and Bucky’s breath catches because it’s not playful, that look. No, it’s serious and intense and focused solely on Bucky, freezing him on the spot with his only arm wrapped around Steve’s waist. He feels Steve’s impossible warmth through the thin layers of their shirts and Bucky smells pine and Steve.

“What do I do best?” Steve asks him, softly, carefully. Bucky’s heart aches beneath his sternum and words lodge in his throat. He manages something along the lines of stupid, reckless loyalty and a huge protective streak the size of a certain southern state, and Steve’s gaze releases him then, intense eyes playful once more.

If he jacks off that night to what Bucky believes was lust and desire in beautiful blue eyes, well, only his recollection and right hand needs to know.

And he ignores the ache in his heart.

*

Because deep down, Bucky wants Steve.

He wants his best friend, protector, alpha. More than his heart can handle, honestly.

His foolish omega brain and clumsy human heart desperately tries to maintain his connection with Steve over the course of their shared life, and recently, Steve’s new job involving Tony Stark.

He tries to show him that he’s here for his friend. He knows he makes Steve laugh, makes Steve smile. He could be better than Tony Stark.

He could be a good omega.

But after months of it, of Steve going off to protect Stark, of being gone for weeks, out of Bucky’s presence and never close enough, coming home with a sappy smile and skin smelling of metal and oil, Bucky finally decides to do something about it.

Or at least, he’d have to talk to Natasha first.

*

“Come on, Nat, just hear me out.”

“Not interested in your love life.”

“It’s not a love life, what the hell, it’s a crisis situation!”

“Your dick and your inability to use said dick are also not my concern.”

“Fuck off, that’s not it either.”

“Your pining of Steve falls into all those categories and I’m busy, I do not have time for you today sweetness, Clint is badgering me enough. Just do yourself and our friendship a favor and tell him how you feel.”

“Wait-“

“Good luck.”

Click.

God, he’s so screwed.

*

“Dude just tell him how you feel.”

“It’s not that easy Clint, why don’t you just tell Nat how you feel?”

“That’s suicide, man, I’m not that crazy. Your mooning over mon Capitain for the past decade barely even scratches my issues; that woman is fucking terrifying.”

“Agreed.”

“She left me a potato with a note in it, Bucky. A kill order in a potato.”

“In a potato? Why?”

“I don’t know and it’s killing me.”

“…Did you eat the potato?”

“Would you?”

“Point taken.”

“Dude, you know I love hearing the sound of my own voice, so I will say it yet again - tell him how you feel. Believe me, no other omega has his attention.”

“Really. He smells of Stark, he works with him every day, never leaves his side and he’s got more to offer Steve than I ever could.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

“Dick. I hope the potato ends you.”

“You love me, and I will tell you again and every second I’m not fatefully chasing Natasha, tell him how you feel.”

“…Fuck.”

“Yeah, I feel ya dude.”

*

Bucky tries

After five months of Steve protecting Tony Stark, Bucky risks it all and tries.

Believing a random confession and straightforward dinner date to be of the least amount of harm, Bucky sets to work all day preparing a feast to hopefully bury his embarrassment and foolishness in later, after Steve carefully rejects him but still eats whatever food is left on the table.

Because Steve never lets food go uneaten. It’s just wasteful.

Approaching from every angle, Steve’s favorite chocolates sit on the table, soft music plays on his ma’s old record player, and the tightest most flattering pair of jeans Bucky owns rests perfectly on his hips - Nat approved and everything.

Dinner is ready and Steve’s still not home though. Odd. Bucky’s nerves rattle underneath his skin. Sweat beads his brow but he feels a growing courage and certainty he only gets right before pulling the trigger on his favorite sniper rifle.

He’d gone to war with Steve, he’d follow Steve to the depths of hell if he had to and he’s loved him since they were young and bashful, reckless and perfect.

Almost perfect.

Glancing at his phone, Bucky reads over the last text from the alpha. “Heading back now,” Steve said, but that was over an hour ago. Concern grows steadily in his chest as he sits and stares at his phone.

So, Bucky waits, anxious heart beating in time with his racing pulse. Almost an hour after Steve’s last text, what with Bucky almost bursting out of his skin with worry, the familiar cadence of boots on stairs reaches his ears.

Steve is here, shit he’s here, and Bucky is an idiot what was he thinking? The chocolates, the dinner, the scenting, the everything.

Losing Steve. It’s terrifying.

But his time to bail vanishes the moment the door opens and the familiar scent of pine, leather and home fills Bucky’s awareness. Also, a hint of oil and metal cringes within his nose, and those earlier nerves head straight to the basement of Bucky’s very core because suddenly, he couldn’t handle another moment knowing Steve is with someone else, smelling of grease, metal and distinctly not Bucky.

Possessiveness is not one of Bucky’s finer traits, but excuses, excuses.

Steve comes into the room then, head down, shuffling off his boots and Bucky leaps to his feet. “Hey Steve, can I talk to you?” he asks quickly, desperate now. If Steve senses that his friend is anxious, he doesn’t show it. Instead, the alpha says nothing and moves steely into their kitchen. “It’s important,” Bucky mumbles, concerned now that Steve’s scent remains off-putting and strained.

“Not right now, Buck,” Steve finally says. And heads straight past Bucky. 

Blind by this opportunity to finally admit years of longing and feelings for an alpha Bucky grew up falling in love with, Bucky grabs Steve’s arm, stopping him abruptly. “It will only take a second, pal, I’ve got something I need to tell you.”

Steve wouldn’t meet his eyes. The alpha remains tense, Bucky could feel it in his grip. “Let go, Buck.”

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asks suddenly, senses recognizing the alpha’s distress and needing to put a stop to it. “Did that omega – “

“Nothing happened with Tony.”

“Bullshit,” Bucky interrupts as he turns his body to face Steve, effectively blocking the hallway with his bulk. “What happened? Did he hurt you?” He leans forward to breathe in and make sense of Steve’s bitter, angry scent but the alpha pulls back suddenly, ripping his arm from Bucky’s grasp and all but snarling in his alpha voice, “Don’t touch me!”

Bucky shatters.

Rejection hurt. Coupled with instant submissiveness built into his very DNA, everything slams into Bucky’s sternum, and he stumbles back with the force of it. If Steve’s surprised and shocked face is anything to go by, Bucky guesses he didn’t expect that either, but still, Bucky reels from it all and steps away from the alpha and best friend. The man who has never used that tone with Bucky, used it, and it hurts. “Steve,” he says, voice uncharacteristically shaken, small.

Scared.

The blonde alpha breaks his gaze away from Bucky’s eyes and snaps, “I can’t talk right now,” and pushes past Bucky, avoiding the omega’s body like it physically pains to be near him. Bucky barely hears the slam of the door behind him.

Frozen in front of the dinner table, Bucky feels his heart crumble and something empty take its place.

Time ticks by, a burning smell reaches Bucky’s nose.

The fire alarm may go off at some point.

Bucky isn’t there to hear it.

*

Rejection is a shitty thing.

Clint’s house is small but comforting. Bucky usually visits to catch up with his best friend or beat him at video games.

Now he lays on his ratty old couch, heart aching and throat sore from held back sobs.

“I’m sorry, man,” Clint offers a day later, after recognizing his friend’s hurt and remaining a shadow of a presence always nearby. “I didn’t think this would happen.” 

In his hand is a mug of coffee, Bucky could smell it, but he hadn’t the faintest interest in taking it.

“Come on Buck, you’ve hardly eaten or drank anything since yesterday afternoon. Please don’t make me sick Nat on you.”

Bucky rolls away, giving Clint his back, conveying how he felt. “I don’t want any, Clint.”

“Bucky-“

“Please,” he begs softly. “Please just let me be.”

The smell of coffee remains as Clint leaves the room, omega scent worried and angry and upset. All things that usually had Bucky gathering his friend in his arms until the scent went away, until happiness or something pleasing took its place.

Instead, Bucky recalls warm eyes turned cold, an unrelenting tone of voice telling Bucky the worst of things, to never speak to him again. The memories, or oncoming realities, sat painfully against the back of his sternum, aching and raw.

Rejection is a shitty thing.

*

Eventually he had to eat, and he did so in a minimalistic fashion.

His heart isn’t in it.

But force feeding is new though, since this usually only happened if one of them were injured and incapable of handling it themselves. Usually, this ends with Steve awkwardly hovering nearby, a muscled wall of protection against the world as his team recovered.

Bucky doesn’t have that anymore.

“I can do it, Nat,” he grumbles, snatching the bagel from his friend’s thin fingers. All he gets in response is a knowing eyebrow lift. Bucky sighs into the tiny bite of bread and blueberries. His favorite. It brings stubborn tears to his eyes. “Why are you here?” he asks, feeling more fragile and raw since almost dying in the desert.

Natasha tilts her head at him. “Steve rejected you.”

Bucky winces at the words and quickly takes another bite of the bagel. “Pretty much.”

Another head tilt. “He didn’t reject you.” An inquiry.

Bucky glares at her but it’s futile. His heart is withering away. But knowing how patient his friend is, and the secrets their country got because of it, Bucky finishes his bagel and tells her what happened. Right down to the fire alarm and Bucky not looking back.

Natasha takes this all in silently. And then says, “Do you know what happened that night to Tony Stark?”

The mere mention of the omega makes Bucky’s nostrils flare and eyes narrow. “What does it matter?” he growls.

“It may matter a great deal,” Natasha points out, ignoring his posturing. “Stark was attacked that night. Reports stated someone shot him through the shoulder. Steve was able to get the assailant but not before Stark went down. Not before he failed to protect Stark from hurt. Now, Bucky Barnes, I’m going to ask you: do you know what happens when Steve fails in protecting someone?”

“Steve doesn’t fail,” Bucky immediately says because the alpha, his alpha, could never fail someone.

But still, he worries. Because Natasha, as always, has a point and drives it home like a sword to the gut. “He’d probably be upset with himself. Be angry. Stupid.”

“Yes.”

“He’d probably want to hit something.”

“Go on.”

Bucky’s heart sinks. “He’d blame himself. Want to be alone.”

And Bucky tried confessing to him on that night, without knowing what Steve was going through. As if sensing his reaction, Natasha’s cool hand covers his own, her unique alpha scent a huge comfort as they worry over their shared friend. Bucky looks up at her with shaky eyes and asks, “Is Steve okay?”

Natasha smiles as if she was waiting for Bucky to ask that question. “He is doing well, what with Stark making a full recovery. But since you haven’t come home, he’s been...distressed.”

Bucky couldn’t help a flare of anger. “He shouldn’t have used his voice like that, Nat.”

Natasha gives him a sad look. “Sometimes it’s difficult to control one’s feelings, especially around those they care about.”

An image, memory, of Clint flying through air, flames lighting up his silhouette like a terrifying, real-life painting, comes to the forefront of Bucky’s mind. And the image of moments after, when a redheaded alpha dove into the flames to rescue the omega.

His heart aches. “What do I do?” he asks her.

“You go get an apology,” she states simply. “And then you be there for your alpha.”

*

When Bucky finally returns home, it feels empty and cold inside.

Standing in the entryway, Bucky smells burnt wood and dust. There is no sign of Steve. Stepping further into the apartment, Bucky turns on the lights and sees the dinner table in the dining room, exactly how he left it.

Mixed regret, a shadow of a voice, cold eyes, makes him look away.

He goes to his room and changes out of his clothes, hoping for a whiff of mingled scents, of Steve and Bucky, a reminder that they shared something. But it’s faintly there. He’s been gone too long from their home. Barely recognizable, Steve’s scent sits like a lonely puppy just outside his door, as if the alpha had lingered there for the entire week Bucky was gone.

The image, of Steve alone, leaning against Bucky’s door with eyes downcast and a defeated look on his face, tears at Bucky’s resolution and fills him with regret.

Bucky can’t stand it.

Determined to make things right, to be there for Steve, Bucky goes into the tiny laundry room and opens the dryer. His prize is there, a giant sweatshirt much loved by Steve, and so, Bucky puts in on, breathing in the familiar scent of leather, pine and laundry soap, feeling his heart ease somewhat at the familiar sense of home.

Then he hears the door open and a very distinct gasp.

Fearing the worst, Bucky lunges out of the laundry room and straight to the front door, stopping short when he sees Steve standing there, his stupid beautiful face looking exhausted and haggard. Still, his eyes were on Bucky as he says, “You’re here.”

Like it’s a miracle itself.

Embarrassed and nervous and heart fluttering a hundred miles a second, Bucky shrugs, face warm and feeling unsure. Still, his eyes flare in the alpha’s direction as something burns deep within his chest.

“You promised never to do that.”

It’s like kicking a downed puppy. Steve’s entire posture crumbles and suddenly, he’s speaking, choking words out like it plagues him to keep them inside any longer. “I know, I know, I’m so sorry Bucky. Please. I didn’t mean for that to happen. I just, Tony got shot, fucking shot Bucky, and I wasn’t there for him and then you were here and you were so close and I was so afraid, so afraid I couldn’t protect you, couldn’t control myself, so I, I had to get you away, from me.”

“I had to get you away from me.”

“Steve,” Bucky says, not resisting the urge to move closer now that Steve’s breathing is turning into choked gasps. “Steve, you could never hurt me.”

“But I did,” Steve snaps, angry at himself, scent unhappy and sad and everything Bucky wants the opposite of it to be. “I yelled at you and that was uncalled for. Then I left you alone, and by the time I realized what I’d done, you were gone.”

“I lost you.”

Steve’s scent spikes at an alarming rate, as if he’s afraid he’s going to lose Bucky again. Bucky steps closer, his own senses pushing him to do what he should have done since day one. “I’m here now, Steve.” He emphasizes this by reaching out and lifting Steve’s chin with trembling fingers. There is regret, sadness, yet a bit of hope in those blue eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says sincerely, voice filled with it.

“You’re forgiven. Never do it again.”

“I promise I won’t.”

Bucky grins. “Pinky promise?”

And finally, like the dawn breaking over the horizon, Steve smiles, and it’s the most beautiful thing Bucky’s ever seen. His best friend takes the hand holding his chin and carefully wraps their pinkies together, shaking them and sealing that promise. “I swear,” Steve says, and Bucky’s heart races, his skin is on fire and Steve is so close, and suddenly, the alpha pulls him impossibly close and kisses him impossibly on his lips.

His soul keens, relief and excitement and the mere rightness of it all careening together.

Because this is where Bucky belongs, in Steve’s arms with Steve wrapped around him, not pushing away, not letting go - and those muscled arms are indeed not letting go. He whimpers as Steve kisses down his jaw, nuzzles his throat, leaving Bucky bereft and moaning his pleasure. He tilts his head back and buries his fingers in that wispy blonde hair as Steve’s warm nose skims across Bucky’s bonding glands, teasing and promising more.

“Is this what you wanted to talk about, Buck?” Steve asks as he licks an obscenely perfect stripe up towards Bucky’s ear. How Bucky remains standing is beyond him, what with everything being Steve, Steve and more Steve. The man is amazing.

A sharp nip brings back his awareness and Bucky snaps out an impatient, “Yes, you dork,” before doing some nuzzling of his own, finding Steve’s bonding glands and licking there without shame. Steve tastes perfect.

Steve snarls and slams Bucky into the nearby wall. It’s positively delightful.

“Is this what you want?” Steve asks as he buries his nose against Bucky’s glands once again. He holds Bucky there with a leg between his thighs and strong hands around his hips. 

Ever the gentlemen and sweetest person in Bucky’s lucky life, Bucky kisses the crown of that blonde head. He can’t wait to have Steve over and under him, on a bed and under the sun, it doesn’t matter. Tonight, tomorrow, seventy years from now, Bucky wants Steve with him, and he tells him so. Steve bites down on his glands not a mere moment later.

Steve fills his entire awareness, glorious and strong, promising loyalty and a future and love. He reciprocates in similar fashion, inner omega keening when Steve grunts and pulls Bucky closer, pressing a defining bulge into the crevice between Bucky’s thighs.

Steve carries him to his bedroom, alpha scent pleased and delicious and all his.

“I love you, by the way.”

Bucky snorts into Steve’s neck, purring at the scent of pine, leather and Bucky mixing into one. “Me too, you idiot. Now get undressed before I throw a potato at you.”

Steve tosses Bucky onto his bed, eyebrows raised. “A potato?”

Bucky pulls his shirt off and tosses it to the floor. “You don’t need to know – come here.”

It’s the best night of his life.

So far.

*

Bucky refuses to open his eyes to the world, body pleasantly exhausted and warm and safely entwined with the bulk of his alpha. Said-alpha who is nuzzling the mating bite upon Bucky’s neck. “Is this a new thing?” Bucky grumbles, a happy grumble and definitely curious. “You nosing my skin every second you get?”

“It’s amazing,” Steve says, feeling Bucky’s awe through their bond. The new sensation of Steve and mate settling in the back of Bucky’s mind is a beautiful thing too, and Bucky basks in it, sated and happy. “I’ve wanted you for ages and I’ve finally got you. You’re amazing Buck.”

So many compliments and it makes Bucky’s toes curl. He simply curls closer into Steve, purring once more. “Missed you,” he murmurs into Steve’s skin.

Steve moves impossibly closer around his mate. “I missed you too. I’m never letting you go again.”

“Hope so,” Bucky pokes at his alpha, delighted. “Otherwise Nat will be burying your body in the backyard. Flowers will never grow again. Not even potatoes.”

His alpha grumbles something along the lines of “I don’t understand, what’s with the potatoes?” and snuggles into his omega. Bucky snuggles right back.

Mates are a wonderful thing.

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t like potatoes.
> 
> Title (I Miss You) is a shout out to my favorite band.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
